Secret Lust Ch 01

I could never fully make myself go there for long, but I did, over and over again.. She had an athlete's body, a massive ass, and huge breasts, meaning she could fill out a bra and score three goals a game. I knew she'd never feel the same way about me that I did about her. She was a jock with a death wish and I was a brain. Though she wasn't stupid, we were like chalk and cheese and our college friend network did not overlap. I coveted her friends, and she couldn't have cared less about mine.

And, post-graduation, it was at that point that I made a not-unreasonable-assumption that our lives would never quite intersect. The minute she graduated from college she headed for the West Coast, never to return. We only saw each other at holidays and aside from sharing a few stale anecdotes, I suspected that our relationship was mostly over before it had really even begun.

That was until I began trying out a variety of for-pay porn sites. For a time, one could link from one to another, giving each one a try until the novelty wore off. I was a bit of a purist when it came to pornography, preferring the independent providers that looked like girls you might presumably hook up with, if not date or marry someday. I'd long been disgusted by fake breasts and breathy voices. And there were plenty of budding entrepreneurs that catered to that sort of clientele.

I'm a little kinky, or maybe you could say I'm a hundred and twenty years out of date. Or European. I like women with unshaven armpits, legs, and happy trails. Some might call it a fetish, but I prefer to call it authentic. I fantasize that I've just disrobed a Victorian-era woman from the last of her five outer garments, and that it's entirely possible we might even be about to engage in intercourse.

Nowadays, with two crucial caveats, these girls are called hippies. The caveat is that they braid their hair with dreadlocks, and almost all of them are white. That aspect of the get-up does not appeal to me, but I'm so thankful for what I do receive that beggars can't be choosers. And, among some, they pull off the effect with some degree of skill, though if it were me in their position, I'd never take the time for something that labor-intensive.

In scouring another hippie site, I noticed that each model was labeled alphabetically. Expecting this, I scrolled down a few columns down the page, but then froze.

It was like receiving the best present of which you could ever possibly dream. Through dumb luck alone, I'd stumbled across five nude picture sets of my sister, plus a three-and-a-half-minute video with no narration, but a decent soundtrack. And as the shock began to hit me, I started doing the math in my head. The pictures were at least ten years old by then, when she'd been in her early twenties, due to the fact that she had far fewer tattoos then and weighed at least twenty-five pounds less.

Clearly, there was no way she could ever know that I was aware of what she had done.

Here's a secret about my sister. No one had ever confused her with having any sense. Her impulsivity was legendary. She'd kept company with junkies not because she had any desire to shoot heroin, but because she wanted people to think she did. I knew immediately that the story of this photo set and resulting video had an intensive backstory that I would never be privy to, nor did I want it. But at first, out of guilt, I tried to have the pictures taken down. She had a responsible career now, one that could be easily compromised if the pictures and video resurfaced someday.

To be truthful, I just didn't trust myself. They promised me immediate resolution, but as it turns out, the company she'd sold the images to lied to me. Two years later, still remembering its name, I paid for a one-month subscription and found they had never been deleted from their server. And once again I had several wanks, justifying it in my mind all the time. This was a part of her that I had never dreamed I'd have access to, but yet there was a case (a rationalization, to be sure) that could be made that I deserved this somehow.

I watched as she cautiously walked down a large root of a tree that hugged the Pacific shoreline. She humped the gritty sand with a naughty leer that made me pause the video at that instant, imagining I was entering her at that exact moment. She balanced skillfully on hands and knees.

And all the time she smiled like the Cheshire cat, with a silly glee. I wondered how much they'd paid her, and if sum was sufficient enough to was fueling her good mood. She clung to a fir log in summertime, and spread her body out before her, stretching in every direction. She was a little chubby back then, but nothing unattractive. She spread her legs in a V-shape, displaying tight black pubes that overlapped past the bikini line. Her leg hair began halfway down the calf and was moderate brown. Her armpit hair was not copious, and a little discouraging actually, as I liked lots of it.

I came so hard that it felt like electric currents were shooting through my eyeballs. I blew my load so viciously that I actually had to clean up myself with a bath cloth.

This was all mine forever. I'd saved the pictures and the video to my hard drive. But could I now say that I knew my sister any better? Granted, hugging here at baggage claim was going to be extra awkward from now on, but was there a way that I could let her know that I was aware of the mighty risk she took and how I'd love to make my fantasies come true? You might get lucky once, but you rarely get lucky twice.

But how to break this to her? Something this combustible, if handled incorrectly, can be risky. Yet, the odds that these images and video had fallen into my hands were astronomical? Who knows how many of these sorts of specialty sites exist? And still I wondered.

If I had found her pics, maybe I could finally make love to her and fulfill my fantasies. Maybe she'd lower her breasts onto my chest as my erect cock pushed through her thick pubes into her pussy. Maybe the instant we both entered each other we could both say "Yes!" at the same time, confirming the pleasure. I wanted this so badly that I was making myself hard again.